


The Bitch is [in] Back

by chemm80



Series: Body Work 'Verse [4]
Category: Sons of Anarchy, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-27
Updated: 2009-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:18:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemm80/pseuds/chemm80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can’t really remember when he wasn’t comfortable on a Harley, either his dad’s or his own.  It reminds him of all the sweet little details he sometimes forgets to notice, the things that make him love riding so much: the pulse of the engine shivering against his balls, the rush of the wind in his face, the pure adrenaline charge of knowing there’s nothing between you and a messy death except your own skill and little bit of luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bitch is [in] Back

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows immediately the events of In The Blood and might make more sense if you read that first.

Dean peers out of the shadow of a building down the street from the scene. His view of the alleyway where he left the dead vampire is blocked by police cruisers, scurrying emergency personnel and the usual crowd of nosy onlookers. Dean frowns at the Impala. She’s not quite front and center to the action, but she’s close enough that the red, white and blue of the emergency strobes wash over her like spotlights. _Miss America._ The image is vivid enough that Dean feels a stab of sentimental pride, but loving his car isn’t getting him back in the driver’s seat where he belongs.

“Might have to come back for it later,” Jax says, speaking low from just behind Dean’s left shoulder. Almost the minute the words are out of Jax’s mouth, a tow truck pulls up and starts backing toward the Impala’s grill.

Dean’s stomach lurches and a small sound forces its way out of his throat. It’s a girly little squeak, really, but Dean’s not inclined to give a fuck, any more than he cares about the look Jax is giving him.

They’re towing his fucking _car_ , goddammit.

Dean’s feet are moving before he even thinks about it, but before he’s taken two steps Jax bunches a hand in his shirt and yanks him back into the dark.

“Hey!” Dean starts, but Jax shushes him. Dean continues with a little less volume, but with a full load of outrage.

“But it…they’re…they can’t _do_ that.” He’s not actually coherent, he knows, but just…come _on_.

“Relax. It’ll be fine,” Jax says soothingly.

The tow truck has finished loading now and it starts to pull away from the curb. Dean gestures wildly toward the scene.

“Fine? How is that fine?” And there’s that whimper again. _Fuck it_. Dean’s entitled.

“Come on, man,” Jax says, giving Dean’s shoulder a little shake. “It’s Charming. Only one impound yard, one place they can take it to. We’ll get your car back just as soon as the drama dies down a little. Okay?”

Dean clenches both fists and then relaxes them, watching the Impala disappear down the street. Running out there, exposing himself, can only end one way: with him in a cell listening to a lot of stupid questions he can’t answer. He’s just going to have to trust that Jax knows what he’s talking about. Dean takes a deep breath and lets it out, nods once.

“Good boy,” Jax says, clapping Dean on the shoulder and turning to watch two guys in blue windbreakers load the body into the back of the coroner’s van.

“Looks like things are starting to cool down a little. Wait here while I go get my bike,” Jax says and slips around behind the building.

“Oh sure, you can go get _your_ wheels, but I’m supposed to just stand here and watch…haulin’ my baby off to God knows where…” Dean mutters. After a couple of seconds he starts to sound ridiculous even to himself. He folds his arms and shuts his mouth.

**

Jax circles around and approaches the bar parking lot from the direction opposite the site of the killing. He makes idle conversation about the excitement with a couple of people he knows. No one even questions his presence—or his exit—as he swings a leg over his Harley and rides away.

And that’s a good thing, because he’s not sure what would come out of his mouth right now if someone started pressing him for any answers at all. He hasn’t really processed the whole “vampires exist” thing yet, much less the fact that someone he actually knows apparently makes a regular thing out of lopping off their heads. Or how about the fact that Jax narrowly escaped getting his blood drained by one himself? That’ll take more than a few shots of tequila to forget. _Jesus._

Jax knows a lot more about the supernatural than he did when he woke up this morning, but the revelation raises more questions than it answers, especially about Dean Winchester. It does explain a few things, though, like why Dean carries all that freaky shit around in the trunk of his car, including a full-on field medic’s kit.

Jax is out of the hot area now and he cruises to the end of the alley opposite Dean, kills the motor. He watches Dean trot over and decides he must be doing a little better, has stopped looking like he’s about to stroke out anyway, which is good. On the other hand, this next part of the evening’s festivities probably isn’t going to do Dean’s blood pressure any favors.

“Now what?” Dean asks.

“Now we wait. But not here. Be a hell of a lot less conspicuous—and more comfortable—back at the house.” Jax gestures toward the rear of the bike.

Dean draws himself up, eyebrows jacking to the approximate vicinity of his hairline, and Jax tries not to grin too hard. It’s fun to wind Dean up, push his buttons. A couple of vivid images from their previous meetings come immediately to mind and Jax shifts against the leather of his seat.

_Oh yeah_. Some of Dean’s buttons are a hell of a lot of fun.

“Oh, no…there’s no fuckin’ way I’m…” Dean starts, shaking his head.

“What? Ridin’ bitch? Hey, if the panties fit…” Jax says, grinning.

“Fuck you, asshole. I’m not getting on the back of that thing. Look at it—that’s not a seat; it’s a fucking postage stamp.”

Jax just folds his arms, waits for Dean’s sputtering to exhaust itself.

“Yeah, you’re kind of proving my point here,” Jax offers. “So unless you want to walk, I suggest you sit your pretty ass down, princess,” he finishes, reaching for his helmet.

Dean clenches his jaw. Jax holds the helmet out in Dean’s general direction and gets a death glare in return. Jax holds up his empty palm in surrender. He doesn’t want Dean really pissed at him. That would be counterproductive.

“Just don’t dump us,” Dean growls, and moves to settle gingerly on the small square of leather behind Jax.

“If we put this bike down, it’ll be because you’re acting like a little pussy. And if the wreck doesn’t kill you, I will—so hang on and lean when I do.” Jax isn’t messing around about that; he means every word.

Dean just humphs and shifts, trying to settle himself without getting too close. It’s patently impossible; the seat really isn’t big enough for two full-grown men. It also has a slight dip in the center that slots Dean’s crotch flush against Jax’s ass no matter how much Dean shifts and adjusts. And Jax is pretty sure all the squirming isn’t helping Dean’s discomfort, either. He grins full on as he pulls out onto the street.

Jax is fairly cautious with his driving at first, trying to get a feel for balancing the extra weight. It’s a little awkward, but that’s mostly because Dean is leaning too far back trying to minimize the contact between their bodies. Jax has the feeling Dean hasn’t been on many motorcycles—and probably never on the back of one.

Jax tries to imagine that for minute. He can’t really remember when he wasn’t comfortable on a Harley, either his dad’s or his own. It reminds him of all the sweet little details he sometimes forgets to notice, the things that make him love riding so much: the pulse of the engine shivering against his balls, the rush of the wind in his face, the pure adrenaline charge of knowing there’s nothing between you and a messy death except your own skill and little bit of luck.

But this is a first for Jax, in a way. He’s more accustomed to the soft give of breasts against his back than Dean’s solid weight, although he finds he likes the feeling either way. There’s just something hot about riding tandem—it’s the sexiest thing you can do with your clothes still on, in Jax’s opinion—bodies pressed close together at the most sensitive spots. He’s never had trouble getting laid after a ride.

But Dean’s still perched on the back of the seat with his body held tense and rigid and Jax doesn’t like the way it’s fucking up his Zen, so he deliberately hits a small pothole. It causes just enough bounce to overbalance Dean, forcing him to give in and clamp a hand down on Jax’s shoulder to keep from flipping off the back. He leaves it there, bracing himself with his forearm against Jax’s shoulderblade.

Maybe the physical contact grounds Dean, because after a minute or two he shifts his body forward a little, letting his belly rest against Jax’s lower back and sliding his arm down to rest his hand against Jax’s hip. It puts his center of gravity exactly where it should be and they both relax with the improved mechanics. Dean starts leaning into the turns a lot more like Jax needs him to, his thigh muscles tightening against Jax’s ass, telegraphing the graceful shifts in balance that steer them smoothly around the curves in perfect sync. It feels really good.

Dean seems to have forgotten about keeping any distance between them now—caught up in the ride, maybe—but whatever it is, he’s leaning close enough that his breath gusts hot across the back of Jax’s neck. And Jax isn’t so saddle-callused that he can’t notice the irrefutable evidence that Dean really is getting off on this—the hot, hard line of his dick is pretty blatantly pressing up against Jax’s ass.

By the time they pull into the driveway, Jax’s heart is pounding, forcing blood to the surface of his tingling skin. He feels good, like he can do anything, and dangerous because of it. This is how it should be, the way a ride should make you feel, and yeah, maybe it’s topped off with a little adrenaline buzz from surviving a vampire attack in this case, but so what? _God_ , he loves his life.

Dean slipped off the back of the bike as soon as they stopped, but he didn’t go far because when Jax turns and puts the bike on its stand, Dean’s right there, standing way too close. Jax holds his ground, meets Dean’s look.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jax says, letting a slightly patronizing note sneak into his tone.

Dean narrows his eyes. “I’m still in one piece,” he growls.

“Looks to me like you liked the ride just fine,” Jax says, looking pointedly down at Dean’s crotch.

Jax is expecting some reaction, a smart-ass comeback, but Dean just smirks and stares, eyes burning with something sharp and predatory.

“C’mon,” Jax says. He turns his back deliberately, but with an effort. He doesn’t know if it was the thrill of the ride or Dean’s hurt pride at having to ride bitch, but Jax knows Dean well enough by now to see that he’s wound up so tight he’s nearly vibrating with it. If Jax had thought he was pushing Dean’s buttons earlier, he’s all but positive he’s slammed one now. With a fucking sledgehammer.

Jax leads them inside, knows Dean’s following close behind him, too close, stalking him like a cat—silent, but with enough intent to raise the hairs on the back of Jax’s neck. He’s barely inside the door when it happens, but he’s ready for it, Dean sidesteps and reaches around him suddenly and— _shit, the fucker is quick_ —Dean slams Jax back against the wall. He holds him there with his forearm braced across Jax’s chest and one thigh pushed up between Jax’s two.

Dean uses his free hand to grab hold of Jax’s hair and pull, forcing Jax’s head back and baring his neck. Dean sets his teeth against Jax’s pulse and bites down with a force that’s just short of bruising, then seals his lips over the spot, sucking and running his tongue across the sensitive skin.

For a second Jax flashes back to fangs shining white in the streetlight, unnaturally strong hands holding him, the smell of death in his face, and he freezes, then shudders. His hips give an almost involuntary roll, grinding against the hard muscle of Dean’s thigh, sweet pressure and drag, and it feels so fucking _good_. So yeah. Apparently Jax has some buttons of his own. He exhales a shaky laugh, shifts away from Dean slightly.

“You save me from that thing so you could have me for dinner yourself?”

Dean pulls back and glares at him. Using the arm still against Jax’s chest, Dean gives him a sharp shove, making Jax’s head rattle back against the wall a little.

“Shut up, it’s no joke. That was too goddamned close, you stupid son of a bitch. _Shit_ …”

Dean closes his eyes briefly, obviously struggling for control. The moment stretches too intense, too serious, and Jax tries to break the tension.

“Hey, you’re the one afraid to risk your pretty ass on a big, bad Harley.”

“I said shut up,” Dean grates, pushing him again, harder this time.

Jax grunts with the pressure, then licks his lips, lets them part in a slow grin, and Dean’s eyes darken.

“Make me,” Jax drawls.

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitches slightly and that’s all the warning Jax gets before Dean curls his fist in Jax’s shirt and pulls him into a hard kiss. It’s more of an assault really, hard press of teeth, Dean’s tongue demanding entrance, fucking into Jax’s mouth, hot wet slide inside, then pulling back to bite and suck at his lower lip. Jax can’t keep back a groan, can’t stop his hips from pushing against Dean, as he pants and bunches his fists in the front of Dean’s shirt.

Dean’s pretty much lost it, muttering and growling a stream of nonsense: “…fucking crazy biker…shit…get this off…want to…” as he pulls and bites, sucks at Jax’s neck, slides one hand up under Jax shirt and yanks at his belt with the other.

With Dean’s hands busy, Jax manages to slip out from between him and the wall and turn Dean around, pulling him in the direction of his room by his shirt.

“Got a bed,” he says stupidly, like Dean might not know that about him, but Dean balks at Jax dragging him and swings around, slings Jax back against the wall of the short, narrow hallway, reasserting control. It hits Jax with a little shock how good he really is with that, the want that surges through him at the rough handling, and he arches, rolls his hips into Dean’s.

They push, twist and bite their way down the hallway, finally staggering through the doorway of the bedroom and Dean backs off then, starts stripping off clothes like they’re burning him, and Jax is on the same page exactly. Dean gets naked first and catches Jax half out of his jeans, uses the advantage to shove him backward onto the bed. Dean follows him down, lands on top of him, pressing against him full length as Jax finishes kicking out of his jeans.

_Christ_ , Dean is so hot and hard, all that smooth skin rubbing against him, Dean’s hands and mouth all over him, and he wants more, reaches for Dean’s ass to pull him closer. Dean bucks backward and grabs Jax’s wrists, has them pinned to the bed before Jax even realizes what’s happening—that scary-fast thing again—and Dean’s holding him down, eyes hot with want and voice rumbling deep in his chest.

“Stay still,” he orders.

Dean waits a few seconds, seeing if Jax is going to argue maybe, then releases Jax wrists when he doesn’t move. Dean drags his hands, his mouth, down Jax’s chest, over his stomach, licking, sucking, making the muscles there quiver and jerk, but Jax holds as still as he can. Because hell, when it’s looking like someone’s about to go down on him, it’s Jax’s policy to lie still and let them get on with it, for sure.

Dean’s working his way down and Jax’s cock twitches at the proximity of his mouth, but Dean avoids it, sucks over Jax’s navel, licks a wet trail down the groove of his hip, fucking everywhere except where Jax really wants it, until Jax is panting and trembling with the effort of not moving. Finally Dean licks lightly up the center of his cock, running his tongue up the vein and swiping over the head with the flat of his tongue at the top of the stroke. Jax groans at the hot, wet feel and Dean does it again, curling his tongue around the head and pulling away, then starting over, until Jax raises his hips at the top of the circuit, can’t help chasing the sensation.

Dean brings his open hand down on Jax’s belly with a loud smack.

“I said don’t move,” Dean snaps, voice deep with command, and Jax doesn’t know whether it’s the shock, or the sting of his skin, or the tone of Dean’s voice that causes the blood to surge into his dick, making it twitch and swell even harder, but he’s beyond caring. He wants Dean’s mouth back on him, whatever it takes, and he answers back the way he’s pretty sure Dean wants him to.

“Yes, sir.”

Dean inhales sharply and Jax can feel the full-body shudder that goes through him at the words. He quits wasting time, leans down between Jax’s legs and shoulders his thigh up, spreads him open with his thumbs and starts licking his way down, pressing underneath Jax’s balls with the point of his tongue, sweet pressure that makes him groan and arch his back. Dean slides lower, teasing over Jax’s opening, swirling his tongue and pressing his lips against the sensitive skin with a pleased humming sound. Jax is panting hard, letting out breathy little moans and Dean can call him a girl, or a bitch, or whatever the fuck he wants, as long as he keeps doing what he’s doing right now.

Dean chuckles and Jax thinks he might have said at least part of that out loud, but whatever, because then Dean slides his tongue inside him, fucks him with it, curling it like he’s trying to lick out all the taste and _holy shit_ that feels good. Jax is panting and clenching his hands in the sheets, vocalizing on an almost continuous moan, trying not to thrash and buck against Dean’s mouth like he wants to, because then Dean might stop and Jax might die if that happened. So he stays still, loses himself in the sensation, hot pulse and flutter inside him, too much and not enough, and when Dean pulls away he cries out, almost shouts it.

“Fuck!”

“That’s the plan,” Dean says mildly, sounding way too controlled as he tears open a condom and rolls it on. “Turn over,” he says when he’s done.

Jax is too far gone to argue, just wants to reinitiate the skin-to-skin contact before he fucking explodes with the need, so he rolls onto his stomach, groaning softly at the feel of the mattress against his aching hard cock. He feels Dean’s fingers on his ass a second before the tip of one presses against his sensitive opening, wet with something. It’s probably just spit, but it’s enough for Dean to slide it inside him with only a little burn and it’s just _fine_. Dean fucks him with his finger a few times slow, then curls the tip, rubbing, sending pleasure surging from Jax’s balls to the top of his spine.

“Jesusfuck,” Jax moans, panting and shaking as Dean keeps working him, hitting that spot every thrust or two, and _fuck_ , Jax is going to come so fucking _hard_ , and he’s going to do it soon the way things are going, but then Dean pulls his hand away abruptly and nudges his hips up behind Jax.

“Fuck, Jax, so goddamned hot,” Dean breathes, tracing Jax's Reaper tattoo lightly with the fingers of one hand and rubbing the head of his cock in the crease of Jax’s ass with the other. Jax spreads his legs a little further hoping Dean will get the hint, that he’s so fucking ready for it. Dean makes a small, choked sound and grunts out the words like he can barely breathe.

“God, yes…gonna fuck you now.”

“Will you shut the fuck up and just… _ah_!”

The last part of the sentence gets cut off as Dean breaches him, cock head popping through the tight ring of muscle without warning. Dean freezes there and Jax pants through the sharp pain of it, controlling the urge to tense up by force of will. After a few seconds, Jax bears down like he’s going to push Dean out. It has the opposite effect, just like Jax knew it would, and Jax gasps out a laugh at the surprised noise Dean makes when he suddenly slides smoothly inside and bottoms out.

Dean stills for a moment, then presses his upper body down against Jax, weaving his arm under Jax’s and over his shoulder, and using his palm to push down against Jax’s neck. Jax can barely move like this, his shoulders pinned, face pressed down hard against the mattress, but he doesn’t care, it’s so damned good—Dean fucking him with slow, lazy rolls of his hips, like he’s in no hurry at all, could do this all day.

It’s hot and good and intense—slow slide of Dean’s cock, stretching and rubbing against the sweet spot inside him, with nothing for Jax to do but lie there and take it, feeling the light, tickling drag of Dean’s amulet across his back, the passage of Dean’s hot breath across his shoulder, the drops of his sweat dripping down onto Jax’s back. Jax stays as still as he can, takes it as long as he can stand it, before he starts trying to rock his hips back against Dean and forward against the mattress, straining for some sort of friction against his cock, sweet burn in his ass winding him higher until he’s desperate to come, a continuous stream of “oh, fuck, oh fuck” pouring out of him.

“What do you want, Jax?” Dean rasps, and _shit_ , how the bastard can still make sense is beyond Jax. Dean bites down on the muscle of Jax’s shoulder and stills, holding Jax there, waiting for him to answer, to beg. Jax shudders and arches his back, but he can’t move, can’t get any friction at all this way and he fucking loses it.

“Fuck, Dean, fuck me…touch me, please…need to come…come on… _God_ …”

“Oh, _hell_ yes,” Dean whispers and starts to move, fucks Jax hard and fast, hips snapping, loud slap of skin mixing with the sound of Jax groaning with every thrust. It’s so good, but he needs…

Dean rocks back onto his knees then, pulling Jax with him, lifting his hips off the bed so Dean can reach around and encircle his cock with a hard, callused grip. Jax cries out at the contact and tenses, feels his orgasm winding up, balls drawing up tight between his legs as Dean strokes his cock with long firm pulls, sliding his thumb across the slick head.

“ _God_ , Dean… _shit_ ,” Jax gasps and Dean moves his hand faster, twisting his wrist.

“Come on, Jax, wanna feel you come on my cock…see you lose it…yeah, like that…” Dean growls, and Jax is done, all of his muscles locking as he comes and comes in hot bursts of slick over Dean’s fingers.

“Oh fuck,” Dean chokes out then, and buries his dick in Jax’s ass, pulsing and twitching out his orgasm. He rests his forehead against Jax’s back for a minute or two, then rolls off, getting rid of the condom and collapsing back onto the mattress with a sigh.

“Fucking Christ,” Jax breathes, rolling onto his side to face Dean.

Dean snorts. “Well, it was good, but I wouldn’t call it a religious experience.”

Jax flips him the bird and shifts, wincing a little at the ache in his ass. Dean gives him a self-satisfied smirk and Jax rolls his eyes.

“Happy now?” Jax asks dryly.

“Be happier when I get my car back. Get your clothes on, bitch,” Dean says, getting up and pulling on his jeans.

“Sure you wanna call me that?” Jax asks, sitting up on the bed.

Dean quirks an eyebrow.

“Unless you want to walk to the impound yard, we’ve still gotta take a little ride.”

Dean sighs heavily and his shoulders sag a little.

“Son of a bitch.”

He looks so little-kid tragic that it cracks Jax up, and he laughs even harder when Dean’s look changes to (mostly) mock offense.

“Oh, that’s it…I’m _so_ gonna kick your ass,” Dean growls, and launches himself at Jax, tackling him to the bed and trying to pin him with what would probably be some pretty impressive wrestling holds if Jax wasn’t laughing too hard to really defend himself much.

Jax is loudly protesting Dean’s unfair advantage of wearing pants when he hears a rattle at the front door.

“Jax? Is that you?”

They both freeze at the sound of the familiar female voice. Fucking _Gemma_.

Dean lets go of Jax and jumps back like he’s been shot, flails at the edge of the bed for a second or two before he falls backward over the edge. Jax scrambles for his jeans and yanks them up over his hips. When he looks up, Dean has his t-shirt on and Gemma is rounding the edge of the doorframe. Jax glances back at Dean. His shirt is on inside out.

“Hey…” Gemma starts, then wrinkles her nose. She gives Jax a look, and this is exactly why Jax stopped trying to hide much from her years ago—she always knows anyway. She clears her throat and smiles at Dean.

“You’re Dean, right? Didn’t see your car out front.”

Dean looks about twenty shades of awkward. In fact, the light’s not very good, but he might even be blushing.

“We were just about to go and get it actually, Mrs.…er, Gemma,” Dean stammers. “Just stopped over here because, um…” he stops to think, then apparently has some kind of retarded light bulb moment and blurts out, “Turtle wax! Jax said he had some, you know…car’s really…dirty…” Dean finally trails off and now Jax is trying not to start laughing again.

“Uh huh. I’ll bet,” Gemma says, smirking.

Jax rolls his eyes. “Don’t start, Mom,” he warns, pulling on his shirt and shoes.

Gemma raises her eyebrows innocently. “I’m just making conversation with your…friend. He’s adorable, Jax, really,” she purrs.

“Jesus…let’s go, Dean. Before I’m scarred for life,” Jax says, getting up and moving toward the door of the bedroom.

Gemma just gives him an amused look and steps to the side of the doorway to let them pass. Jax and Dean are almost to the front door when she says it.

“Oh, Dean?”

They turn back to see Gemma standing at the end of the hallway.

“You really are adorable, but I’m not washing your boxers,” Gemma says, dangling the aforementioned undergarment from the end of one manicured finger.

Dean grabs his shorts and Gemma just chuckles softly.

“Time to go,” Jax says, shaking his head.

“Are you all right?” Jax asks Dean as he closes the front door behind him. He almost feels sorry for the guy. Gemma can be a little much when you’re not used to her. Hell, sometimes even when you are.

“I’ll live,” Dean grumps, then points a warning finger at Jax. “But I’m still kickin’ your ass. Just as soon as I get my car back.”

Jax chuckles. “I guess you’ve earned it. But you’ve gotta get back on the bike first.”

Dean just steps up to the Harley, swings his leg over the seat without hesitation and looks at Jax expectantly, unfazed by Jax’s look of surprise.

“What are you—the Easy Rider all of a sudden?” Jax asks.

Dean makes a considering head tilt.

“Now that I think about it, that last ride wasn’t bad at all. I might get to like this biker shit,” Dean says, grinning.

“You wouldn’t last ten minutes, asshole. Let’s go get your car,” Jax says. He drowns out Dean’s comeback with the kick-start and they roar off into the dark.


End file.
